“Blair?” I crouch beside her, stroking her cheek, tryingnot to let the fear twist deeper into my gut. “Blair, baby, wake up.”
Her lashes flutter, and relief washes over me.
“Calvin?” Her voice is weak, confused. She blinks up at me, then tries to sit up. I catch her, helping her gently, holding her close.
“You passed out,” I tell her softly, keeping my tone calm even though my heart’s still racing. “I’m calling a friend. He’s a doctor.”
“No.” She shakes her head, cheeks instantly flushing pink with embarrassment. She won’t even meet my eyes. “No, I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” I say firmly. “Blair, you lost consciousness during sex. That’s not something I can ignore.”
“I didn’t pass out from that,” she says, voice small. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning… and I didn’t sleep last night. My energy’s just low. What we did… it took the rest of it.” She looks down, visibly mortified. “I just need food. And maybe a nap. I swear, I’m okay.”
It hits me like a punch to the gut.
“Calvin?” she calls softly, sensing the shift in my energy. But I don’t answer. I can’t. I’m too fucking angry.
Not at her, never at her. I’m pissed at myself. I should’ve known something was off. Should’ve seen the signs. Checked in. Protected her.
Instead, I was too focused on getting her under me. On claiming what I’d wanted for too damn long.
She passed out. Because I was too selfish to make sure she was okay.
Never again.
I walk out of the room without a word and head straight for the kitchen. My chef leaves prepped meals for the days she’s off, so I grab a container from the freezer and startheating it, jaw clenched tight. Behind me, I hear soft footsteps followed by her voice again.
“Calvin?”
“Sit down,” I say flatly, not turning around.
She sighs and drops onto one of the barstools, dramatically, of course. “You’re being ridiculous. I told you I’m fine.” The sass in her voice is thinly veiled, but I catch it.
I finally turn, and the sight of her nearly knocks the breath out of me. She’s inmyshirt, drowning in white cotton, hair wild, skin flushed, like a perfect peach. She looks thoroughly fucked, and normally I’d eat it up. But I can’t right now.
“Blair,” I grit out. “You, not taking care of yourself? That’s not cute. That’s not negotiable. Not with me.”
She stands and walks over, arms wrapping around my waist, cheek pressed to my chest like she’s trying to anchor herself to me. And the moment she touches me, some of that anger melts into worry again.
“I was scared out of my fucking mind when you passed out,” I say, wrapping her tightly in my arms. “I thought I hurt you.”
She pulls back, just enough to look up at me, her big brown eyes remorseful. “I know. I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“I don’t need your sorry. I need it to never happen again.” My hand cups the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair, keeping her still so she hears every damn word. “You don’t skip meals. I don’t care how busy you are, what you’re stressed about, or what’s on your mind; you eat. You rest. That’s not optional.”
I pause, the rest of the sentence stuck in my throat.
Not when you’re mine.
Except she’s not. This was supposed to be one night. A line crossed, a craving scratched. All that ‘you’re mine’ talk? Just words in the heat of the moment.
But I’m a dom. I don’t walk away after sex and leave someone hurting, physically or otherwise. I don’t half-ass care, not even for a fling. Aftercare isn’t a suggestion. It’s everything. I don’t get to turn that off, even if this is complicated as hell.
“I was on my way to get food when I saw the orchid petals,” she says softly, her voice laced with guilt. “By the time I realized I was lightheaded… we were already in the middle of everything, and I didn’t want to stop.”
Of course she didn’t. I made it impossible to stop. I pulled her under with me and didn’t give her room to come up for air.
I lift her chin. “Look at me.” My voice is firm. She meets my eyes slowly. “You can stop me. Any time. No excuses or guilt. You come first, before sex, before anything. Always. Understand?”
